Sick
by ellisbanesnow
Summary: Thor contracts some Earth disease and gets put in a special SHIELD hospital to recover. Loki hears about it on a news report and even though he knows Thor isn't going to die from it, is compelled to check on him anyway.


He magicks his way into the SHIELD hospital, into the "Special Cases Unit" for non-humans, into his brother's sick room, all within three minutes of his hearing about it. Thor has contracted some kind of blood poisoning that's often fatal to humans, and yes, he's fine, if feeling terrible, and in no danger of actually dying from some Midgardian disease but that doesn't mean that Loki's own blood didn't feel like it had stopped flowing in his veins when he found out that _he's sick, he's sick, no, impossible, he can't be, is he, is he sick?_

Loki himself has always been the sickly one, suffering in the heat, suffering from headaches that all but blind him, taken ill with unexplained maladies that leave him weak for months on end…

He doesn't recall ever seeing his brother incapacitated this way, ever. Injured, bleeding, broken, yes – but sickened, weakened, yet without a mark on his body? No.

As he stands, mildly disoriented in the small bright chamber, looking down on Thor where he lies unconscious on an uncomfortable looking bed, he wonders if perhaps he's dreaming one of his oh-so-real dreams, if his brother will wake soon and tell him he loves him and wants him by his side always, or perhaps tell him he's never loved him, how could he, how could anyone? One of those things happens to him in his mind almost every night – both, some nights. Some nights his brother tortures him, kills him, and some nights, some nights he…

Loki takes a step closer to his bed, to him. On the other hand, he thinks… On the other hand it could be a trick, the first clever move made by any of that group of idiots who think of themselves as Avengers – definitely not thought up by Thor himself though, who is honest almost to the point where it becomes one of his not inconsiderable amount of faults. But then who amongst them would know how it pierces his heart and stops his world to hear that his brother is unwell? Who in this universe or any other would know it? He is sure that Thor himself would not know the extent of it, because he cannot, because Loki has made sure, made sure for so many, many decades that he does not see how it is himself who is the core, the heart and the spine of Loki, the centre around which all else that he is is twisted…

He takes another step closer, and from his brief second's deliberation has decided that it is real, Thor has somehow become afflicted by some infection that normally spends its time on killing humans.

He kneels beside his brother's bed and hesitantly reaches for his big hand where it rests, still, on white sheets.

"Oh Thor, the situations you manage to get yourself into," he mutters quietly to the brother who clearly can't hear him as he uses his magic to listen to what Thor's body might have to say, reaches for something he can heal. "And not even with my help… This time, at least…" For a brief second he ponders on how Thor can possibly have picked up a Midgardian sickness, and whether he himself might be susceptible to catching it from him – even now it's a regular occurrence for single thoughts, isolated somehow from the part of him that knows the truth now, to thread their way through his mind unaware, until he reminds them what he is and they realise they're not needed and fall away, of course he is not vulnerable to the same illnesses…

He pulls his fingers from Thor's skin with a frustrated snarl when he realises that not only can he not heal this alien disease, he can't even find it. How can something he can't destroy exist here – something strong enough to fell even his mighty brother? Controlling his anger is easy, though, when Thor is suffering before him, and there is still much he can do; touching his skin again, this time his face, he reaches for what Thor is experiencing, and dulls his headache, eases his nausea, lowers his fever with simple spells that glow beneath both of their skins. He hears himself sighing his brother's name as he breaks their contact again and stands; he leans down and kisses his soft mouth, and separating himself from Thor for the third time is even harder – even if his beard does scratch.

Loki sets about examining the machines attached to his brother. One ends in a tube sticking right into Thor's right arm, and he follows it back to a box covered in buttons, above which hangs a bag of clear fluid, apparently making its way into Thor's system through the tube… Instantly suspicious of poisons, he thinks to pull it out from under Thor's tanned skin, but just as he's debating this as his next move, the door opens.

"What the ever living fuck are YOU doing here!"

Loki whirls, ready to take up defence of his prone brother, even though he hasn't quite forgotten that half an hour ago he was planning for the next time he would be defending himself _against _him, but it's just one of Thor's new friends – the one Loki considers the most profoundly irritating.

"He's my… He's sick. I'm here. It hardly seems illogical or confusing. Are all you mortals so deeply stupid?" he says, crouching down at Thor's bedside again and taking his hand possessively. "And you, apparently, are one of the brightest, Stark…"

Tony Stark stares at him from the doorway for a second, then narrows his eyes in suspicion. Loki ignores him and turns his eyes on Thor, who's stirring as they talk over him but stills again without waking.

_Shh, brother, _he thinks but does not say. _You will be better soon, and then… And then…_

And then what? And then they can begin fighting again? For a second, half a second, less, Loki wishes things to stay like this, to be able to sit by Thor's side again, hand in hand with him… And then he feels sick himself, _am I wishing sickness upon him? _And then he feels even sicker remembering trying to kill him, and somehow worse, somehow more unbearable, the thoughts the preceded the acts, wanting him gone…

"You aren't here to hurt him?" Stark questions him from the doorway, and Loki almost jumps; he'd forgotten he was there, forgotten there was anyone else in this realm at all or ever had been…

He won't dignify that with an answer, he thinks, and doesn't, just makes himself comfortable on the floor, keeps his fingers entwined with his brother's, wonders whether to stand up and kiss him again, and decides maybe later, maybe, maybe, and as he thinks about that he gradually becomes aware that he's muttering away to himself…

"But… You hate him!" the man-who-would-be-iron tells him with conviction, and he's on his feet in an instant, staff coalescing from the air of another dimension to be taken in his hand in place of his brother and pointed at Stark threateningly.

"You know nothing!" he rages unthinkingly. "I _adore _him!"

Stark, who did nothing more than raise his eyebrows at the weapon pointed his way, raises them even higher and opens his mouth to say something, but with a rush of magic Loki sends him away, into the street far below, perhaps he'll be struck by one of the Midgardian powered vehicles that swarm the land like another disease peculiar to this world, and slams and locks the door.

He summons himself comfortable seating and takes up vigil by the bed once more, touching Thor, stroking his hair, muttering to himself and his brother and letting nobody in with them even when they bang on the door and shout and threaten to break in the windows, as if they could do that either if he doesn't want them to…

He aches for sleep, he's so very, very tired, and it doesn't matter how much magic he pours back into himself to stay awake and functioning, his body needs the real thing… Not that he seems to be capable of it lately, and definitely not that he's going to sleep until Thor awakens, until he knows for sure he is well… Still, he lays his head on the white sheets next to their joined hands and closes his eyes and tries not to think.

He wakes to voices, footsteps, and sits up and shrieks curses into the air around him, terrifying two Midgardian healers but gaining little reaction from Tony Stark who's in the doorway again, and just a look from his friend, Thor's other friend, the Captain of America. Then he realises a lot of things in quick succession. People, mortals, are _in the room, _he must have slept after all, and deep enough to let go of the spells he was maintaining, interesting, wait, why have they made no move to restrain him? A heavy sheet, white like all in this place, has been draped over his shoulders and now falls back around him, and he's still holding Thor's hand, or Thor is holding his, or both, and… _Thor!_

He is awake, still lying in the bed, saying nothing, not moving, but awake, watching Loki with big, tired eyes.

"A-are you well?" Loki asks him, voice sounding rough, feeling rough in his throat.

"I am," Thor replies, quietly, with a smile, and Loki wishes he had kissed him more, a lot more, while he was unconscious.

"I… Am glad. I mean…"

Trying desperately to regain his composure, he stands, throws off the sheet someone had covered him in, and he doesn't want to let go of Thor, not really, but Stark and the Captain are watching him closely from across the room and looking like they may be reconsidering their frankly unwise decision not to capture him while they had the chance, so he squeezes Thor's hand tightly, and doesn't look on his face again before he magicks himself away.


End file.
